


Orpheus Rupture

by prouvairing



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, And Adorable People Smashing Alien Butt, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Multi, yet another pacific rim fusion no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairing/pseuds/prouvairing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan and Bahorel had been co-pilots for two years, now. They’d been Orpheus’ very first pair of pilots, when he’d just come out of a fresh batch of Mark IIIs. Which was why they’d gotten a say in naming the thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orpheus Rupture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roarkar](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=roarkar).



> Finally! The internet is back in our house! To celebrate I’m posting yet another Pacific Rim fusion that no one asked for. It is a present for lovely Marta (aka [roarkar](http://roarkar.tumblr.com) on tumblr), who came up to me in chat and said "BUT JUST THINK OF JEHAN AND BAHOREL AS CO-PILOTS"  
> Which is how we ended up naming the Jaeger Orpheus Rupture and I personally ended up with the need of writing these two kicking kaiju ass.

The day Red Leader found its missing pilot, the whole Anchorage Shatterdome was in a frenzy.

Figures: they’d been struggling to find a good match for Enjolras for _years_ , and a beauty such as Red Leader simply _couldn’t_ remain on land any longer.

Red was an old Mark III, but you better never call it that in front of Jehan. The thin, wiry Ranger preferred the word _vintage_ , thank you, and held true that you just _needed_ at least a couple of analogues in your arsenal. With Orpheus, that made two.

Courfeyrac was the only one who dared snigger and call him a hipster, but he and Prouvaire had been friends for a long enough that he dared… and besides, Courf studied kaijus.

He had no conception of danger.

When the co-pilot first walked into the Shatterdome, anyways, all the Rangers were out by their Jaegers to watch the show. This was quite the unusual sight, although the newbie wouldn’t know.

Chetta and her boys stood by Wing Stock, seemingly playing cards, actually showing off. Wings was one of a kind, after all, and the formation Thunderstorm a rarity, especially this side of the Breach.

The girls were out too, the Marshal’s daughter and her partner, their newest couple of Rangers until Enjolras’ co-pilot had come in. They were the first ones to greet him when he arrived, Cosette with a blinding smile and Éponine with just a hint of it, as if her blonde co-pilot were dazzling enough for both and she wanted to save her energy.

Orpheus Rupture, finally, stood at the end of the line. It was one of their oldest Jaegers, painted in military greens, silvers, and pastel pink flowers. A fist wrapped in thorns and roses was etched onto its breast. Its pilots leaned against a column, side by side, one small, pale and restless, a long braid hanging off his shoulder, the other tall, dark and broad-shouldered, with an undercut lined by a pattern of spikes.

“So, what do you think?” asked Bahorel, arms crossed, looking for all intents and purposes like a bouncer ready to kick your ass out.

Jehan, for his part, stood straight as a needle, full of nervous energy. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, forehead creased as he regarded the new pilot.

Then, he smiled. “He seems lovely!” he declared, and folded his arms in a mirror of his partner’s stance. The tattoo on his forearm peeked through his suit, the outline of a raven and watercolor flowers dripping paint like blood.

Bahorel raised an eyebrow as the newbie walked closer. His hair was a proper curly mess – seemingly black, although hints of brown in it caught the light as he nodded and laughed at something Bossuet had said – and his face was sickly pale, with shadows under his blue eyes. A bruise traced his cheekbone and his lip had been very recently split. Striking, for sure. Bahorel thought he wouldn’t mind having a drink with the guy. But lovely? Not really.

“Only you would call him lovely,” Bahorel snorted, in fact. “He looks like he just came out of a bar brawl.” Which, hey, Bahorel respected thoroughly. Admired, even. He _definitely_ wouldn’t mind joining in, next time.

This had Jehan turn towards him, auburn braid swishing. His hazel eyes were alight and he gestured wide as he explained.

Now _that_ was lovely, if you asked his co-pilot.

“No, see, it’s just that! He’s _striking_ ,” he said, which echoed Bahorel’s thoughts perfectly. Not surprising: they were Drift compatible for a reason. “Not conventionally lovely, which makes him even more so. I wonder what his story is.” Jehan was in love with stories, after all. Bahorel wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up tomorrow to find he’d been writing sonnets about the new guy during the night. “Besides, he looks like the polar opposite of Enjolras. And yet they _must_ be compatible if they’re co-pilots. Do you think they’d let me watch them spar?”

Bahorel tugged at his braid affectionately. “Honestly, J, I don’t think _anyone_ could refuse, if you make those puppy eyes at ‘em.”

In his excitement, Jehan rose to his tiptoes to land a kiss on Bahorel’s cheek. The other man had to bend down slightly or he wouldn’t reach anyway.

When the new Ranger finally came around to Orpheus, he took Jehan’s enthusiasm more than gracefully. Combeferre, who was giving him a tour of the Shatterdome, introduced them saying, “This is Jean Prouvaire. If he kisses you, don’t freak out, it’s what he does when he likes people.”

“Yeah, if he _really_ likes you, he’ll let you call him Jehan, too,” added Bahorel, shaking the pilot’s hand. “Bahorel, nice to meet you.”

“Grantaire. R, for short,” said the stranger, ghost of a smile peeking under his shadows. Jehan straightened at that. “Clever,” he commented, eyes glittering. “Capital R.”

Grantaire’s smile widened to a proper one. “Exactly! Not everyone can spot the French pun in there. But I’d have to expect it from someone using Romantic affectations.”

Jehan lit up so much that Bahorel almost feared he would fly away. “I think I’m in love with you,” he declared, then turned to Bahorel with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, darling.”

“Don’t apologize to me, _sweetheart_ ,” he answered, mocking his co-pilot’s tone. “I’m fine. It’s the Chief you should worry about. Jealous type, that one.”

Jehan laughed, then took a startled Grantaire’s face in both his hands and planted a kiss on his forehead. They were just of a height, which made Jehan especially pleased.

“Please, _please_ , call me Jehan.”

 *

Jehan and Bahorel had been co-pilots for two years, now. They’d been Orpheus’ very first pair of pilots, when he’d just come out of a fresh batch of Mark IIIs. Which was why they’d gotten a say in naming the thing.

Pairing them up hadn’t been easy. Their scores were almost perfect, 49 kill Bahorel and 50 Jehan, on 52 drop, but no one had even _thought_ of them being Drift compatible. Mainly because Bahorel was a fucking _tower_ and Jehan was thin and elfish.

They had to be physically compatible, after all.

If they’d even talked, it had been pure chance, and Bahorel’s fascination with this wiry pilot who wore flowered leggings and knit sweaters, whose eyes would light up viciously when he slayed simulated kaijus, and darted around, haunted, the rest of the time.

He’d sat by him during lunch, once. Just arrived at the Shatterdome, Jehan hadn’t made any friends so far. Most of their current crew hadn’t come out of training yet: the two of them had been among the first to pair off.

He’d worn his hair in a bun that day, Bahorel remembered it perfectly. His sweater was one of his ugliest yet, but his thin freckled nose and wide hazel eyes were just lovely enough that Bahorel didn’t care. Jehan sat hunched, food almost untouched, scribbling away in a book – a _paper_ notebook.

“Hey there,” Bahorel had said, slamming his tray beside Jehan’s, earning himself a startled glance. “’Sup?”

Jehan hadn’t trusted him at first. Figures: Bahorel didn’t look anything like the sensitive type. He actually looked just like any bully who had ever had the misfortune of trying to bother Jehan. Which was why Jehan scooted away and closed in on his notebook.

Bahorel hadn’t desisted. “Don’t say the ceiling, that’s just lame,” he said, although Jehan didn’t seem to be about to say anything at all. A tiny smile curled the poet’s mouth, for a fraction of a second, before he could stop it. “I promise I’m not here to fuck with you. You look lonely, though.”

This had attracted Jehan’s attention. He turned to regard Bahorel curiously. “What does lonely look like?” he’d asked, hint of irony on his face.

Bahorel had shrugged. “You tell me.”

It started there.

Jehan’s poetry, when he finally got to read it, was full of screams, blood and giant claws ripping at cities. He had been in San Francisco in the summer of ‘13, visiting with his family. He’d been twelve years old.

“We were supposed to leave on the fifth, but Mom loved it so much we decided to stay another week,” he said, lying in Bahorel’s bed, weeks after they’d been declared Drift compatible. He’d shrugged, as if to say _and the rest is history_ , but his eyes were hollow. Jehan never did anything halfway, and his sorrow was just as deep and earth-shattering as his joy.

Jehan’s mother now lived somewhere in France, and she called him daily, begging him to leave the front and move back in with her. She understood, however, that he never would.

Bahorel’s nose had dug in Jehan’s hair. “Just wait until we’re the ones tearing them apart,” he’d said. Jehan had shivered, and a smile had stretched on his lips. His poetry remained bloody, but it became more vicious, like a war cry.

Bahorel had lived somewhere in the Midwest, in 2013, but his family had slowly drifted towards the coast as the rich claimed all the spots inland and ended up moving back in with his grandma in Oahu. He’d had a vague thought of becoming a lawyer, once, kick some bourgeois ass with words instead of fists… but giant-ass robots had been too tempting. He still toyed with the thought, but it was more of a strike of fancy than anything. Maybe one day, when the Earth was free (as Enjolras put it).

Which was the same as saying _maybe never_.

 *

Jehan wasn’t short, exactly, but he was skinny, and besides Bahorel he seemed to shrink further.

Sparring, however, was a _conversation_ , and Jehan was snake-fast and could read Bahorel like no one else. Bahorel, for all his brute strength, was just as sharp-eyed as his companion. Which was, in fact, the point. Couldn’t really have a conversation without listening to one another first.

It had taken a long time, but Jehan’s love for the world has started blooming again in between the battle songs filling his countless notebooks. Bahorel argued that their cell was barely big enough to hold the two of them, they couldn’t be filling it with _paper,_ but Jehan was stubborn as a mule. He said that laptops were fine for final versions, but the smell and sound of paper, the mess of ink, was the only way to draft properly.

Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Enjolras finally arrived at the Shatterdome, started gathering their current crew around them, filling them up with promises of freedom. Jehan made friends with Courfeyrac, with Joly, Bahorel with Feuilly and Bossuet. Musichetta arrived and they made their very first three-person Drift. Jehan started laughing again.

He still curled at Bahorel’s side often enough, or hung around the rails, staring at Orpheus with that intent, haunted look. But his enthusiasm also sparked bright when another kaiju was taken down by a Jaeger. His poems started singing of the beauty of humanity coming together to save itself.

When they killed their first kaiju, Thornback, he lit up with vicious joy. Once back at Anchorage, he leapt at Bahorel’s neck and kissed him full on the mouth.

“We’ll be the ones to tear them apart,” he whispered, thrilled. “They hadn’t taken _us_ into account.”

Bahorel laughed and wrapped his arms around that thin waist, lifting him up so his feet dangled in the air. “They better watch out. Humanity is coming for them.”

And Orpheus Rupture wouldn’t miss it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, Orpheus was our only Jaeger name/team idea... but obviously you just can't leave the other Amis out. So I had to come up with names and teams quick and I'm not 100% satisfied with them but there you go  
> Red Leader, the e/R Jaeger, was _totally not named because of that line George Blagden changed what are you talking about_ (besides everyone had done things with Apollo already)  
>  Wing Stock is shamelessly taken by [the homonym song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPfEntyxJTg) by Ashley MacIsaac, which has literally nothing to do with anything (as not-as-yet spoken headcanon in this is that the OT3 are a South American team) except the "ailes" pun in Joly's name.  
> Eponine and Cosette's Jaeger is as of yet unnamed.  
> I am FULL of headcanons for this, sadly, but I'm really not sure whether they'll ever become fics, as I already have two AUs going on and I don't know whether I can add a third. Anyways. Just ask if you want to see more of this.  
> And come say hi [on my personal](http://seagreeneyes.tumblr.com) or find the fic [here](http://prouvairing.tumblr.com)


End file.
